


Torn Hopes

by purgatorys_fallen_angel (too_old_for_fangirling_but_idc)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Part Removal, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Major Character Injury, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_old_for_fangirling_but_idc/pseuds/purgatorys_fallen_angel
Summary: Dean wakes up in an abandoned building to the sound of Cas screaming in agony. He is hurt and confused and Cas is nowhere to be seen. Without much hope he starts his desperate search for his best friend in a building that is filled to the brim with Croatoans.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49
Collections: Supernatural Eldritch Bang





	Torn Hopes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in the SPN Eldritch Bang and I'm very excited to post the finished work.  
> Thank you so much to the mods for running this awesome bang :)  
> I also want to thank the lovely artist who created the really amazing artwork for this fic, [Armellin](https://armellin.tumblr.com/).

Dean blinked slowly and looked around. He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened. But he felt anger and fear rising low in his chest, the strong emotions nearly overwhelming him. He must be in danger, his instincts told him, making him nervous and itchy. He thought he heard a sound and shifted, trying to see anything but the blurry outlines of the room he was in.

“Dean!” There it was again, a familiar deep voice rasping his name. And it sounded pained; too pained. He managed to sit on his hands and knees, coughing. He tasted blood but he couldn’t care less. Something was wrong, and he had to find out what it was.

“DEAN!” Finally, he recognized the voice, miserably shouting and moaning his name.

“Cas?!” Dean scrambled to his feet and stumbled, steadying himself on the wall. “Cas?! Where are you?!” Cas’s shouts sounded so distant, so far away. Was he even in the same room? Was he in danger? Or worse… were the Croatoans still out there, attacking them? Was that why Cas sounded so pained?

He stumbled a few steps forward, trying to keep his balance by holding onto the wall. It was sticky and his hands came off bloody when he pulled them back to look at them. He didn’t want to think about whose blood that could be. If he was lucky it was Croatoan or his own blood, if he wasn’t lucky - well he’d be damned if he allowed himself to lose the last damn thing that kept him sane. The last thing that still meant something to him. After he had lost Sam to Lucifer and started the apocalypse, Cas had been the only one to always be there, to endure his mood swings and not guilt-trip him for the continuous downward spiral of aggression and depression he had hopelessly drifted into. And, more importantly, Cas had always supported him. Dean knew that he could trust him, that he could be open around and with Cas, tell him what he wouldn’t tell anyone else in their makeshift camp. During their time together – travelling around in Baby and hunting post-apocalypse, trying to find Sam, witnessing the first Croatoan outbreaks and then the worldwide pandemic, hiding and fighting and trying to survive and building the camp – Dean had never had to fear for Cas. Even after Cas had fallen and become human, even when he still wasn’t able to cope with his emotions and drowned them in his stupid drugs – and Dean had no clue where he always managed to find new pills and hallucinogens, but he did. And maybe… maybe Dean had never really tried to stop Cas, to keep him from falling, because he was too selfish to want to deal with a depressed and sad Cas. And maybe he also liked Cas’s smile. If he had to list all the reasons why it was his fault that his best friend had started taking drugs to numb his pain – well, the list would probably have been endless.

But _never_ had Dean ever heard the former angel sound so miserable, so pained. It was agony to his ears. And he still couldn’t tell where exactly Cas’s pleas for help came from. Downstairs? Upstairs? Was he even on the same level?

Slowly, Dean inched his way forwards. His side itched, and he tried not to think about the liquid that soaked his shirt and the weird numb feeling that spread through his chest. He had to keep going. He had to find Cas.

Somewhere he heard the groans and weirdly distorted yells of the Croatoans, and only hoped that they were still far away enough for him to reach Cas and get him out of whatever situation he was in.

“CAS?!” Dean yelled again. He knew that it was risky to be so loud while there were still Croatoans around. Every moment one of them could come barging around the corner or out of one of the doors. But Dean didn’t care. Everything that was on his mind was saving Cas. The silence that followed his yell was almost threatening and he quietly – at least he hoped dearly that he was quiet – moved to gaze around the corner into one of the rooms.

Nothing. It was empty.

Dean grit his teeth and continued, forcing himself to stay at least somewhat upright. He peeked into the next room and immediately wished he had never done that.

He had found Cas.

But he wasn’t sure if what was left of his best friend was enough to even get him back to the car.

“Cas…?” Dean slowly approached him and knelt down by his side, trying to figure out where he could touch Cas without making his injuries worse. Blood was literally everywhere. Gashes and deep cut wounds were scattered all over the parts of Cas which Dean could see from this angle. “Cas? Can you hear me?” Now that he had found the fallen angel, he made sure to lower his voice, not wanting to attract the Craotoans’ attention at any cost. If they found them now they’d both be dead for sure.

Carefully, Dean cradled Cas’s cheek and lifted his face a little bit to be able to look at him. There was too much blood. It ran over his fingers and dropped onto the floor, angrily red and fresh and hot. Dean wanted to cry, or scream, or run away, but he couldn’t. His vision went red for a second, he wasn’t sure if it was because of all the blood or if he was reacting to the stress. Cas’s left eye was so swollen and bloody that Dean couldn’t tell how bad the injury really was, maybe it was even missing.

“Dammit, Cas, you idiot,” Dean growled quietly. He knew he had to get Cas out of here, but how was he supposed to do that when Cas was hurt like that? Should he even try? If it had been anyone else, Dean wouldn’t even have hesitated to leave them behind and save his own skin. Who knew if Cas hadn’t long been infected and would wake up angry and frighteningly zombie-like, such as all those other people Dean had already seen succumb to the Croatoan virus. But Cas was still an angel, right? Even if there was barely anything left, maybe he had just enough juice to save himself from an infection and get his wounds fixed up sooner.

There was a low groan and Dean’s hand immediately shot to his gun, ready to pull it, when he realized that the sound wasn’t coming from a Croat, but from his best friend.

“Cas?!” He immediately leaned down to see if Cas’s breathing was okay.

It was. Thank Goodness. He still didn’t seem to be conscious, though.

Carefully, Dean pressed his free hand under Cas’s waist, lifting him up slightly until he was lying on his back and – fuck! Cas’s shirt was torn in the front, deep cuts covering his chests. His shoulder looked like someone – or something – had tried to claw right through it, leaving skin, muscles and bones torn open and cut.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Dean cursed quietly and ripped his flannel apart, using a few of the stripes to cover Cas’s wounds. It wasn’t enough but for now he simply tried to cover the worst wounds and stop most of the bleeding. He tried not to think too much about their shrinking possibility to survive this ordeal, as long as Cas wasn’t conscious and couldn’t get up on his own. And Dean very much doubted that Cas would just randomly wake up, recover within a few minutes and run to the safety of Dean’s truck outside – angel juice or not. It was Dean’s responsibility to get them out of there.

The sounds from inside the building were getting quieter. Which was good. It meant the Croatoans hadn’t noticed them and were leaving. Or… maybe, but hopefully not, they were pondering and waiting for an opportunity to attack. On the other hand, though, Croatoans weren’t the smartest and Dean was convinced that Cas and he would have long been dead or infected if the Croatoans had known of their presence.

A low gurgling sound came from Cas’s throat and Dean checked it once more for any serious injury, just to be sure. It seemed fine. Yes, there was a deep cut but it didn’t look severe. Cas’s chest was still rising, even if only the tiniest movements of his ribcage were visible. Dean fastened the last stripe of his flannel around Cas’s thigh. He didn’t like the thought of moving Cas, but he had no other option. It was either moving him and risking to lose him, or letting him suffer and die in the dirt until maybe a Croatoan passed this room and took mercy on him, or he would be transformed into a Croatoan himself.

 _Nope, not gonna let that happen, not after all we’ve been through,_ Dean thought and grit his teeth. Cas was even more light-weighted than Dean had assumed him to be. Of course, he had seen Cas eat less and less over the past few months, replacing it more and more with drugs and weed and alcohol. Dean himself used to drink every day, in the evening, usually when he wanted to forget. And the whiskey wasn’t the best to do that. Most of the times he ended up hurting someone, getting in a fight or fucking Cas while he was too high and intoxicated to even notice what Dean was doing. He’d feel guilty afterwards. But Cas never seemed to remember, at least he never said anything. So Dean simply kept doing what he was doing.

Dean cradled Cas in his arms and stood up slowly, pressing him close to his chest. The hallway seemed endless. He kept close to the wall, peaking into every room they passed until he finally reached the staircase and slowly began his way downstairs. Blood dropped down onto the floor. He heard the dull sound but couldn’t tell if it was Cas’s or his own. And he wouldn’t risk checking now.

It was eerily quiet, the silence sending chills down Dean’s spine. Cas groaned in his arms, and Dean wanted to stifle him simply to lower the risk of them being found by any enemies. He tried to run down the stairs without making any noise but his feet seemed to slam down with the force of tons of weight, the harsh sound of his footsteps echoing off in the narrow staircase.

 _Dammit._ Dean didn’t try to think about the distance he still had to cover before they would reach the truck. And even though he tried to move as fast as possible, he didn’t seem to actually move forward at all. The walls narrowed down around him, pressing closer until Dean felt like his lungs would explode from the lack of air and his inability to breathe. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, he tried to tell himself multiple times, but it didn’t help, and it didn’t reduce the anxiety that was thumping through his body. His lungs burned and his vision blurred, and for the tiny amount of a second he thought he was going to pass out. Perhaps passing out wouldn’t even be that bad.

Frustrated, Dean shook his head and continued his way down the stairs, now determined to at least get Cas out to safety. The walls slowly retreated back to their original positions and Dean managed to gulp in a deep breath of air. He could do this. This wasn’t the first time he was in a situation like this. He’d had worse. And he’d always managed to come out on top, to rescue the damsel in distress and safe his own ass as well. But sometimes even a Winchester had to have bad luck, right?

“Dean…” Cas’s quiet rasp pulled him out of his dark thoughts and he risked a look down at his best friend. The former angel looked miserable. His eye was so swollen that Dean was sure it was damaged beyond repair; his voice was accompanied by a small gurgle sound that made Dean terrified of what had happened to his best friend’s vocal cords, and he wondered if his throat would keep working until they arrived at camp. Who knew if it wasn’t better anyways when Cas died now instead of suffering forever because his wounds were too severe to heal completely. But the thought angered Dean. He wouldn’t let Cas go. Not after all they had been through together.

“Cas?” Dean didn’t expect him to answer. He looked too out of it. His one good eye had rolled back until everything Dean could see was the white sklera and nothing else; and as far as Dean could tell that usually meant that a person was either unconscious or dead. If it wasn’t for Cas’s ragged breathing and the terrible gurgling sounds, Dean would probably have freaked out. But hearing his best friend struggle to breathe at least was reassuring enough to know that he was still alive, that he was still holding on. And, as cruel as Dean might have been, he wasn’t about to give up on someone so close to him who was so obviously fighting for his own life. Cas was strong. He had always been a warrior to the core and Dean had never stopped admiring him for that.

The last few steps were agony. They took forever and ended in front of a door of which Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to push it open and see what’s behind or if he simply wanted to hide with Cas, and wait until maybe someone came looking for them. He knew that that wouldn’t happen, though. At least not if the camp inhabitants stuck to his rules. Someone didn’t come back from a supply run? Well, bad for them but they were probably dead and there was no sense in going out and looking for them and risking even more lives. Dean’s rules, and now he was falling victim to his own stupidity and stubbornness. He couldn’t even be sure that the people wouldn’t shoot Cas once they arrived back at the camp. Dean had done it often, so why shouldn’t they do it. He was convinced that at least a handful of them would do it simply to enjoy causing him pain. Although Dean wasn’t sure how much pain he would actually feel. Maybe more than usual, maybe even enough to drink so much that he’d pass out and wake up with a raging hangover; but it surely wouldn’t make life easier for the people living around him. He already was an asshole. Cas was the only person who kept him at least somewhat at bay. If he was to lose him he wouldn’t have a reason to be nice or caring at all. Not that he was any of that now.

Carefully, he balanced Cas’s weight on his hand and opened the heavy metal door with the other one, hieving it open and stumbling out into the broad daylight. The air was crystal clear and Dean took a few deep breaths before hurrying towards the truck, hoping that it hadn’t been damaged. He leaned Cas against the car and fumbled in his pockets for the key. Once he found it he opened the car and maneuvered Cas onto the backseat because there was no way that Cas would be able to sit upright on the passenger seat. He scrambled into the front seat and didn’t even bother to strap the seatbelt on, pushing the gas pedal to its limit. He spun the car around and steered it towards the next trail, following it back in the direction of the camp. His heart rate steadily slowed down the further the distance between them and the building got. The racing thoughts of disastrous things that could happen to him or Cas stopped. Now he was more concerned whether or not Cas could heal up again.

The trip back to the camp felt like it took forever. The road was way too bumpy and Dean winced everytime the car drove over a stone or an uneven part. It must hurt like a bitch for Cas. And he didn’t want to imagine how bad it actually could be.

It was already getting dark when the first gate of Camp Chitaqua came into sight. Dean let out a relieved sigh even though he knew that the trouble was only about to start. Several people were already gathering a few feet behind the gate, watching his truck arrive with a mixture of concern and distrust. And Dean knew why; and he could totally understand them. He would react exactly like that.

Dean slowed the car down and turned off the engine, then he slowly got out of the car. He could feel the eyes of at least a dozen people on him, but he ignored them in favour of walking to the back door and lifting Cas out of the car. Somewhere he registered the shocked gasps and the low mumbling, but he couldn’t focus on that now, his eyes already scanning the crowd to find their camp doctor. She was standing near the tent they used as a makeshift hospital and watched them with a gaze that Dean couldn’t interpret. He steered towards her, the wound on his side only a minor itch now. It felt more numb than anything else.

“Diane?” It was more a bark than a gentle question. “I need your help, now.” He stumbled into the tent, and put Cas down on the first camp bed he saw and straightened up to look at Diane. Her blonde hair was a mess as always and her eyes were already fixed on Cas’s body.

“Well that doesn’t look too good,” she raised one eyebrow and looked up at Dean. “You really want me to stitch him back up? I don’t really think he’s gonna make it.”

Dean frowned. “I didn’t bring him back all the way for you to tell me that he’s gonna die.” He sounded gruff and pissed, but Diane didn’t even flinch. She probably already knew that Dean wouldn’t bite as long as he wanted her to help Cas.

“Well okay, but don’t say afterwards that I didn’t warn you, boy.” Diane got a few instruments and settled next to Cas. “Help me undress him, I need to see all of his wounds.”

Dean nodded and quickly got to work, stripping Cas off his clothes until nothing was left, not even his underwear. His legs were pale and bloody, cuts decorating his thighs and - _oh God_ \- something was seriously messed up with his knee. It almost looked like his patella was completely ripped apart, a weird slimy liquid dripping out of the hole that was left and it definitely wasn’t blood. Something smelled rotten and weird and Dean frowned because he didn’t think that Cas’s wounds should be old enough to already smell rotten.

Dean’s gaze wandered up Cas’s body, stopping at his torso when he could finally see the wound on his shoulder. It looked worse than he had thought and - could he see through his shoulder?!

“Oh fuck…” Dean ran his fingers through his hair, trying to suppress the urge to vomit right in front of his feet. This wouldn’t really benefit their situation. At all.

Cas whimpered quietly and turned his head slightly, obviously trying to get away from the harassing touches of Diane and Dean. Dean almost felt sorry, but he knew they couldn’t stop now or Cas would definitely not survive this.

“Be honest with me, how bad is it really?” Dean paced a bit, trying to calm down. He needed some whiskey. But any other kind of alcohol would do the job as well.

“Hmh… So, I don’t think we can save his knee, and his shoulder looks really bad but if we’re lucky his heart is still working normally. All the other wounds… He will need a lot of stitches, and I will need your help for this because we’re out of narcotics and he will definitely try to run away once we start.”

“If he could run…,” Dean mumbled but didn’t even manage to laugh at his own lame joke. His fingertips felt uncomfortably numb when he fumbled with the towels Diane handed him.

“Soak them in cold water and get some alcohol for your nerves.” Diane was already bent over Cas’s limp form and observed his knee. Dean only nodded and left the tent. He wandered through the camp until he reached his cabin. Normally, he would take the time to put on some fresh clothes and get rid of the blood-stained and often also covered in organs ones, but now he didn’t feel like he should take the time to do something like this. He should keep to his task, and get back to Diane and Cas as quick as possible. Nothing else mattered at the moment.

The soaking was quickly done, and on his way out Dean grabbed two bottles of whiskey. It was a cheap one, but what were prices in a world dominated by the Craotoan virus anyway. Without listening to the other people that tried to ask him what had happened and why the hell he had brought back a heavily injured person, and that he shouldn’t get a free pass only because Cas was his fuck buddy, he headed back to the tent, sliding inside and handing the damp towels to Diane when she only reached out her hand to gesture at him.

“I think he will survive. His heart seems to be uninjured and his lungs are working. His vocal cords look bad, though. I think they are torn apart.” She looked up at Dean. “Did you get into a fight with Croatoans? Because if you did… you know what that means.” Dean did. He knew very well what it meant if Cas had been injured by a Croatoan. Because maybe, if the Croatoan had managed to infect Cas, he would have to kill him.

“I know, Diane. I’m prepared to do it.” Dean sighed and settled next to Cas again. “Do you need me to hold him down?”

Diane only nodded, already holding a needle in her hand. “Drink some of that whiskey you brought and give me the other bottle.” She didn’t have to ask him twice; he gave her the second bottle and took a large gulp of the first one. It tasted bitter, but it was alright; did its job. He lowered the bottle once he had chugged down almost half of it.

“Good, I’m ready.” Dean straightened up and stared at Cas, trying not to look at the gaping wounds that covered his best friend’s body. “What’s with his eye?”

Diane shrugged. “I don’t know yet. We have to wait until the swelling goes down, but it does look like we have to remove it.”

“Damn,” Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, again, another gesture of desperation. “He’s gonna hate us for that.” Maybe they were lucky and Cas was still too high to notice anything but the pain.

“Okay, now hold him down, I gotta stitch up his shoulder.” Diane leaned over Cas, the needle already prodding at his skin, and Dean hurried to hold Cas’s arms down. He looked so frail, so slim and skinny that Dean was afraid to break him if he pushed too hard. Perhaps it was only the pale tone his skin had gotten because of all of the bloodloss, or the way the drugs had worn out his best friend’s body over the last few years. Nevertheless, Dean felt like a huge mountain of meat next to the former angel, and he was pretty sure he had lost some weight too.

Dean watched Diane pierce the needle through the ragged looking edges of Cas’s torn skin, sewing it shut slowly and neatly. She wouldn’t be able to fix the damage inside, Dean was very well aware of that. They were lacking proper hospital tools for that. Hell, they didn’t even have the possibility to do xrays or more complicated surgeries. Life in a camp like this was shitty and rough and hard and death always hung above them like a dark cloud, threatening them to explode at any given moment.

Cas barely budged beneath him when the needle tore through his skin; his eyebrows furrowing slightly. Perhaps they really were lucky and he was too out of it to notice anything besides the uncomfortableness of the pain, and the weird feeling of the needle. It was fascinating, somehow; the way the needle punctured his pale skin, not even drawing anymore blood. Most of the heavy bleeding had stopped and Diane had definitely cleaned the wound, the edges were more visible now, and Dean could see the loose sinews and weirdly distorted muscles. Dean was used to see the insides of people. His job as a hunter had toughened him enough to be able to keep his shit together and not throw up. But this was Cas. And Cas was alive. This was something else. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Cas flinched a little bit when Diane pulled the wound closed and then moved to turn Cas onto his side to stitch up the other side as well.

In the end, Dean didn’t remember how much time they spent only cleaning and stitching up Cas wounds, but it was dark outside once they had finished. Cas was completely still. He had probably passed out a few hours ago. The only thing they had been able to do for his knee was clean it as good as possible and bandage it. Dean knew that he probably would never be able to walk properly again.

Now it was time to look at his eye. Diane had placed a damp towel on the left side of his face to reduce the swelling. She lifted it slowly and placed it on a tray next to the bed. It still didn’t look too good but the swelling was less and Dean thought he saw a glimpse of Cas’s lashes.

“I think I can take a look now…” Diane bent over Cas and carefully pulled his eyelids apart.

Dean wished she hadn’t. He wanted it all to stop. He didn’t want to see Cas’s wounds anymore. He didn’t want to have to worry about him anymore, and he didn’t want to have to hold his best friend down anymore. But he had to. And there was no way he was getting around seeing what was left of Cas’s eye, apparently.

The white - well, what was left of it - was deeply red and the iris was… gone. Where the iris should be was now a gaping hole. It almost looked black to Dean and he was shocked that it was even possible to injure an eye in that way. It didn’t look like it was caused by a simple punch.

“Yep, we gotta remove that. Now. Or it will cause blood poisoning.” Diane rummaged around in a bag and got out a metal tool that almost looked like a spoon. And that kind of freaked Dean out.

“Please don’t tell me that we’re going to remove his eye with a freaking spoon.”

“Yes, we are. And you’re going to hold his eye open.” Diane seemed way too unfaced to be someone who was minutes away from removing someone else’s eye.

“Gross,” Dean mumbled and moved to stand at the head of the bed. He awkwardly placed his hands on Cas’s cheeks and pulled until he could see the remnants of his eye. It was creepy; and it freaked him the fuck out. Otherwise, he could get Cas an eyepatch, which would look really cool. In case Cas survived this.

Dean tried not to look while Diane removed Cas’s eye. But it was nearly impossible not to stare, even though it was absolutely gross, and disgusting, and nothing Dean had ever wanted to see. There was an absolutely nauseous sound when the spoon-thing slid into the eye-socket and slowly scooped up the eyeball. When it finally gave in and Diane could pull it out Dean was shocked to see how many veins were attached to it. And the thick sinew that had to be the visual nerve dangled pathetically in the air. That must’ve hurt like a bitch. Maybe they had some pain medication left that they could give Cas later after they were sure that he was still alive. Dean couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and poke the glassy reddish thing that was Cas’s eyeball. It was absolutely gross and he had no clue why he was doing it, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Sometimes his curiosity still got the better of him. The eyeball was slimy, and way harder than he had expected it to be. It made sense, considering that the eyeball had to maintain its shape in the skull, and in hindsight Dean did not quite understand how his mind had produced the idea of a squishy like vitreous body. The white of the sclera was barely visible, too much blood pouring out of the front wound. Briefly, Dean wondered how it could still be bleeding if the eye had already been separated from the veins, but he pushed that thought aside. After decades of hunting he had seen enough to know that - in this world - everything was possible.

“He’ll make it, right?” Dean watched as Diane put the eyeball into a metal tray that resembled those he had seen in hospitals or in morgues. Diane’s chest heaved slightly when she sighed and turned around to look at him.

“I can’t tell. For now I just want to stop the bleeding and clean his wounds. I know you think that he’s strong, but I’m not sure if he is strong enough to survive something like this.” She leaned back over Cas, working on his eye socket with several medical instruments Dean couldn’t quite identify. “Anyways, what would interest me is how the two of you ended up like this? Weren’t you just on a supply run?”

“We were…” Dean shifted slightly to relax his arms. They were slightly stiff and ached from the pressure he had put on them earlier and his weird position to hold Cas’s eyelids open. “I don’t really remember what happened. We were in an abandoned house, gathering supplies when I heard something.” He shrugged. “Next thing I remember is waking up to Cas’s screams.” He grimaced at the memory and instead looked down at Cas to reassure himself that they had both made it out alive. “He’s a fighter. He won’t leave us.”

Diane glanced at him for a second before focussing back on what was left of Cas’s eye socket. It didn’t look too appealing. Everything that was left was an empty, bloody hole that quivered slightly whenever Diane touched it or something on the inside. Dean tried to look away. He really did. But it was like one of those terrible accidents or disaster situations, in which one wanted to look away but human curiosity clearly won over one’s senses. 

“You always had a special relationship with him, hm?” Dean could swear he saw a smile spreading across Diane’s face, but it was hard to tell from this angle, most of her face covered by her hair. As if she could read the question that was forming in his mind, she continued her trail of thought. “You’re an asshole. But you’re less of an asshole around him. Even though he often questions your choices.”

Dean grumbled a bit. Of course, it was never pleasant to hear an insult coming from someone from the camp, and usually no one - besides Cas, but Cas was too kindhearted to do that - dared to voice their opinion about him when he was right there in front of them. But he assumed the current situation allowed for something like this. At least, now that Diane had helped him against all odds, he owed her. A lot. Because there was still no evidence or proof that Cas and he hadn’t been infected with the Croatoan virus. Therefore, they put the safety of the entire camp at risk, just so he could maybe save his best friend’s life. He still didn’t quite understand why he had acted like this. He blamed the weird feelings he had about and for Cas. And he blamed Cas himself. If he was still an angel he would have been able to heal himself and wouldn’t be fighting to survive right now. They wouldn’t have had to remove his eye and he would have been able to tell Dean what the fuck had happened in that building, because Dean remembered _nothing_. And he really hated the insecurity that came with remembering nothing.

“Go rest for a bit, Dean. You look like hell.” She straightened up after patching up the place where Cas’s eye had once been. “We can’t do more right now. I’ll clean the rest of his wounds and stay at his side. If anything happens I’ll let you know, but you’re no help if you’re close to passing out.”

“But what if he gets worse-”

“I’ll let you know, don’t worry. Now go and get some rest,” she interrupted him and gave him a hard glare. “And make sure to calm down a bit. You’ll need all your strength later.”

Dean was already on his way out of the tent when Diane’s words struck him as odd. “Why do I need my strength later?” He turned back around to face her.

“Well, I assume not all of the camp inhabitants will be just as happy as I am about what you possibly brought back here with you." Diane hummed quietly while she cleaned the utensils she had just been using on Cas. "They will confront you sooner or later about it.” 

Dean watched her for a moment before he pulled over a chair, placed it next to Cas's bed and sat down. Diane was right. They would confront him and he had no clue how he should explain what he had done and how he had made his decisions. In the worst case they would throw both Cas and Dean out of the camp because they posed too big a threat for the safety of the inhabitants. And what if they were right? What if Dean and Cas really were infected? What if it only started to show later? Would the others kill them or would it be too late?

"Dean?" Diane asked, her voice sounding confused but Dean couldn't tell for sure because he wouldn't allow himself to look away from Cas. "You should really go and rest up." 

Dean only shook his head. "If these are the last moments we have before the virus kicks in, I want to spend them at Cas's side."

He could feel Diane's gaze, and he knew that she felt sorry for him. What he wasn't sure about, though, was if she felt sorry because she thought the virus would get them, or if she felt sorry because she thought that Cas might not make it. Dean had never thought that he was one for chick flick moments. They made everything more complicated and indicated that one thought that someone else might not make it back again. And Dean had never been willing to accept thoughts like those, pushing aside the knowledge of the very real possibility of death. He still hadn't accepted Sam's fate, and he wasn't about to accept Cas's. But somehow he felt the urge to shake Cas awake and tell him what he felt for him, that the former angel was more important to him than he might be able to show. He couldn't do that, and risk making Cas's injuries worse than they already were.

When Dean didn't hear an answer he relaxed slightly, assuming that Diane had either left or accepted his explanation. He reached out and carefully placed his hand on Cas's porcelain white one, intertwining their fingers. He should have done this earlier. Actually, if he was already being honest, he should have done this way back when Sam was still Sam and Cas was still an angel, and they were hunting demons and vampires and ghouls and weren't fighting - and living - the freaking Croatoan apocalypse.

Cas's hand felt cold, his fingers heavy against Dean's. He wasn't sure if it was normal or not, or if his best friend's condition was getting worse. He tore his eyes away from their hands and instead focussed on Cas's chest. It was rising slowly, the shallow movements barely visible to the eye.

"C'mon Cas, don't leave me now. You gotta fight, you hear me?" Dean squeezed the thin hand in his, and wished that Cas could feel it, or that he could somehow understand what Dean wanted to tell him. But there was no reaction. Cas's hand didn't move and his body remained frighteningly lifeless on the bed.

"I can't lose you now…"

After that, everything seemed to be in kind of a haze. Dean was so tired that he occasionally dozed off, Cas's hand slipping out of his own hand each time he did. He didn't know if Diane was still there or if she had gone back to her own cabin long ago. And if he were honest, he didn't really care if she was still there or not. He only wanted Cas to wake up. The time didn't seem to pass. It felt like an eternity which he spent sitting next to Cas's bed, holding his hand and praying that he would wake up again. There was no God. Dean knew that, but somehow praying made him feel like there was at least something he could do to help, even though it were just unspoken pleas for help to a deity that did not care about its creations.

Dean stared at the small movements of Cas's chest. They were reassuring and grounded him a bit in reality. He was so close to losing his mind, so close to losing his sense of what was real and what wasn't. Maybe he was only dreaming? He tended to have terrifyingly realistic dreams lately, so it could be possible. Then again, the time spans of his dreams were usually not as long as this. And most of the time, his dreams either centered around Sam, or he dreamt the same thing several nights in a row.

Dean gently squeezed Cas's hand, hoping to get a reaction; maybe a slight hitch in his breathing, a twitching finger… Anything, as long as it would tell Dean that everything was going to be okay. Pathetic, wasn't he? The man who everyone thought of as a ruthless asshole was reduced to a scared and shaking mess because his best friend was trying to recover from whatever had attacked them. He should pull himself together, go back to his duties and make sure their camp was safe. He should go on and try to find Sam, and leave Cas in Diane's care. Something kept him from doing so, though, and he stayed right next to Cas's bed, holding his hand and staring at his chest to track the movement.

There was no movement. Dean waited for a few seconds, staring at Cas's still form, to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. He shot up and bent down, hovering close over Cas's mouth. Maybe his breathing was only shallow and that was why Dean wasn't able to spot his chest movements anymore. But he couldn't feel anything on his cheek, nor could he hear possible intakes of breath. Cas had stopped breathing.

"Diane?!" His voice sounded hoarse and he almost flinched when he heard himself. The tent had gotten eerily quiet and when Dean straightened up to look around he couldn't spot Diane anywhere. _Great. What am I supposed to do now?_ He fumbled for a moment. _Resuscitation! I have to get him back to breathe!_

Dean fumbled with the blankets and pulled them away. It shouldn't be too difficult, he knew how to resuscitate someone. His hands were shaking, though, and his chest contorted with fear. What if he failed? What if Cas died because Dean made a mistake? But if he didn't try at all Cas would die for sure. He carefully felt for Cas's sternum and started the chest compressions, counting quietly until he opened Cas's mouth, held his nose and pushed air into his best friend's lungs. It all happened in a blurry. Dean didn't really register what exactly he was doing and how long he kept doing it. The only thing he was aware of was Cas's cold body, his chest that kept refusing to start breathing again, and his own racing thoughts that screamed at him to do something, to save the last person that really mattered to him after losing everybody else who had been close to him.

"Dean?!" 

_Come on, Cas! You can do it! I know you can!_ Every time Dean pushed his hands down he thought he saw Cas move, thought he saw him opening his eyes and smiling at Dean, telling him that this was all just a bad dream. 

"Dean!" 

He flinched when he felt someone grab his shoulder and pull him away. Chuck? It sounded like Chuck, but he couldn't really see anything, his vision blurry. Was he crying? He reached up to touch his face, his cheeks wet with sweat and tears. What had he done? What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't simply leave Cas behind! He had to help him. He couldn't be dead, right? Maybe he would come back, just as he always did?

"Dean? Dean! Hey!" Someone was shaking him, but Dean was too dazed, too lost in thoughts, to register who it was. It could be anyone. Dean didn't care. He only wanted to rush back to Cas's side, to hold him, and tell him that everything would be alright. He wanted to hug him, and feel him breathe and laugh at Dean's stupidity for thinking that he'd get himself killed like that. He wanted to apologize, for all the cruel and mean things he had done and said to Cas, and he wanted to tell him that he loved him, that he was in love with his best friend and had been too dumb and stoic to admit it to himself all those years they had spent together. 

Was it too late now? Was he really going to leave like that? 

"Dean! It's too late. He's gone."

Just like that, all his hopes and dreams shattered, tearing apart at the roots and leaving him empty. He had lost everything. And now Cas was gone as well, the last hope he had been clinging to so desperately.

"No…"


End file.
